Shiny Heart, Book 1: Kahurangi
by samwrites1840
Summary: We all know Tamatoa, the colossal crooning crustacean with a penchant for everything shiny. But before him, there was his dad: Māui's best friend, sarcastic sidekick of the Hero to All, coconut connoisseur. This is his story.
1. The Power of Heart

Chapter 1: The Power of Heart

An eyestalk poked out of the sun-brushed shallows of the oldest island in existence. It twisted around inquisitively, dipping in and out of the warm tide a few times. After a moment of hesitation, a tiny coconut crab scrambled out of the water, slipping a few times on the damp sand. He gazed in wonderment at the sugar-white beach and dense, green forest which lay before him, so focused on drinking in the view that he completely ignored the enormous white object being swung up behind him.

There was a resounding bang, a hot sear of pain, and — scarcely a minute after he had emerged onto dry land — the crab's vision went black.

* * *

Te Fiti had been aimlessly swinging from a vine, basking in the vibrant gold-and-greenstone hues of her forest, when she heard the explosion. It came from the direction of the beach, and although she couldn't see quite that far she still had a fairly good idea of its source. "Māui!" she yelled, springing down from her perch and running forward, her feet barely skimming the ground. "Māui-tikitiki-a-Taranga!"

Sure enough, she found the boy standing in front of a little crater, hugging his fishhook to his chest and moodily kicking up little puffs of sand. Upon seeing her, his eyes widened and he bit his lip nervously. "I- I can explain!"

The goddess narrowed her eyes. "Good. Go ahead."

Māui looked sheepish. "Well, I… uh."

"I'm waiting," Te Fiti said, trying to look stern. But she was still a young goddess, barely a hundred years older than Māui — and in her human form, she stood only one handspan taller than the demigod. She doubted she could effectively intimidate him, but she felt like she had to try anyhow.

Māui looked at his feet, lip wibbling slightly. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Honest. I didn't mean to…" He gestured to the crater morosely. "I just got upset."

Te Fiti melted. Sternness wasn't in her nature, anyway. "Is this about what happened with Pele?" she asked, putting a gentle arm around his shoulder and pulling him down to sit beside her.

Māui frowned and kicked at the sand again. "It was just a prank," he said. "She didn't have to _ground_ me for five years!"

"Māui," Te Fiti said, "you do _not_ drench the volcano goddess in seawater as a _prank_."

Māui groaned. "I thought she had a sense of humor!"

"Hey, it could have been worse."

" _How_?"

"She could have… set your hair on fire for all eternity."

The boy gulped, one hand drifting to the mass of silky curls he was so inordinately proud of.

"But," Te Fiti continued, smiling, "she let you stay here with me instead."

"That's true," Māui said, returning her grin and leaning in close. "You're my favorite goddess, Fiti," he added in a whisper.

Te Fiti's cheeks darkened despite herself. "Little scamp," she laughed, elbowing him. "You'll be dangerous to the ladies when you're all grown up."

"I _am_ grown up! I'm ten!" Māui said indignantly.

"Of course you are," Te Fiti said. She ruffled his hair, causing him to squawk in indignation. "That was a very grown-up temper tantrum you just had." Glancing at the crater again, she winced at the scorch marks marring the white sand. A flash of dull purple at the center of the depression caught her gaze, and she squinted at it, eyes widening when she noted the minuscule pincers and closed eyes. "Māui!" she gasped, looking horrified. "You killed it!"

Māui peered at it. "It's just a coconut crab," he said, shrugging.

" _Just_ a _crab_?" Te Fiti hissed, looking murderous. If there was one thing she — the mother of life, daughter of the Earth goddess Papatūānuku — could not stand, it was callous disregard for her creations.

"I didn't mean to hurt it!" Māui said, hastily backpedaling. "If I'd seen it, I wouldn't have… What are you doing?" His expression morphed from panic to confusion as he watched Te Fiti, who had carefully picked up the limp crab and was cradling it in her arms.

"It's still alive," she mumbled, stroking its battered shell. "But barely."

"Are you going to fix it?" Māui asked, craning his neck to observe.

"I'm going to try," Te Fiti said. Under Māui's spellbound stare, she lifted the crab and pressed it against her chest, right on the spot where her pounamu heart pulsed. For a few minutes, nothing happened. Māui studied the goddess's determined, almost desperate, expression, and a wave of guilt washed over him.

"Fiti," he started, but she held a finger to her lips and gestured downward with her chin. Māui looked, and, to his utter shock, beheld a green glow spreading through Te Fiti's skin. There was a brilliant flash of jade light. Māui shielded his eyes — and when he opened them, found himself staring right back into the stormy blue ones of an equally startled, but perfectly hale, little crab. "Whoa," he gasped. "I didn't know you could do that!"

"Neither did I," Te Fiti said breathlessly.

"You can let go of me now," said the crab, and yelped as the goddess dropped him unceremoniously onto the sand.

"It talked!" Māui exclaimed.

"So it did," Te Fiti said, eyes wide.

"Do… all coconut crabs talk?" Māui asked.

"Not that I know of," Te Fiti muttered slowly.

"My head hurts," the crab complained, clicking his pincers.

Te Fiti rubbed her temples. As far as she has always known, humans were the only creatures who were capable of intelligible speech — and yet, here she was, listening to a crab complain about his headache in fluent Māori. An absolutely, _stunningly_ mundane coconut crab, or at least it appeared to be. But when he spoke, his voice carried the distinct timbre of a male child's, perhaps six or seven years in age. _Perhaps it has to do with how I revived him,_ she mused. _Or even the hit from Māui's hook…_

Māui excitedly scooped the crab into his palm. "This is _so cool_!" he said, eyes shining with the peculiar thrill a ten-year-old boy experiences when he's just stumbled upon something magnificently novel.

"Put me down!" the crab squealed, pouting. Te Fiti stifled a most un-goddesslike giggle. Never in her existence would she have dreamed up a coconut crab who could pout, much less one who made the expression look strangely endearing.

"Can I keep him?" Māui pleaded.

"Don't ask me, ask him," Te Fiti replied.

Māui held the crab up to eye level. "If you stick around with me, I'll give you lots of food, and a nest made out of leaves, and- and I'll make sure you stay safe from birds and monsters!"

The crab considered this for a moment. "Food?" it finally trilled cautiously.

Māui nodded. "Coconuts! And bananas, and fish, and poi."

"Poi?" the crab repeated blankly.

"It's made from taro root," Māui chirped. "Doesn't look like much, but tastes great."

"Taro?"

A smile crept across Te Fiti's face as she watched Māui animatedly chatter with the still-wary crab. _This_ , she reckoned, _might be exactly what Māui needs._ Thegreat responsibility that would come with taking care of such a small, vulnerable creature, as well as the companionship of someone close to his own age, would — in the goddess's opinion — do the young demigod a world of good.

* * *

"I'm bored," Māui announced, prodding the crackling fire with a stick.

"I'm hot," the crab added from atop Māui's chest.

"You could always sleep," Te Fiti said hopefully.

Māui and the crab fixed her with ridiculously identical looks of indignation. "No!" they cried in unison.

The goddess sighed. "Fine. Then how about you think up a name for him?" She gestured to the crab. "We can't keep calling him The Crab."

The crab twitched his antennae. "What is a name?"

"It's what we call each other," Māui explained. "My whole name is Māui-tikitiki-a-Taranga, but no one calls me that unless they're angry at me."

"Which is most of the time," Te Fiti said under her breath.

"Mum called me 'Little Appetizer' when I was a baby," the crab said thoughtfully.

Māui grimaced. "I… don't think that's a very good name."

"It's better than what my brothers call me."

"What do they call you?"

"Nothing. They just try to eat me."

The demigod stared at him. "That's terrible! I won't let them do that!"

The crab lifted his claws in an approximation of a shrug. "It's okay. When I grow big enough, _I_ will eat _them_."

Māui quickly changed the topic. "You like coconuts, don't you? How about I call you—"

"You will not name me 'Coconut'," the crab said pointedly.

"Bananas?"

"No."

"Fish?"

"You are very bad at this."

"Fine. _You_ can name yourself."

The crab pondered his task, eyes absently swiveling to admire the way the fire threw shadows on his pearl-white shell. "Ātaahua," he said finally, snapping his pincers.

Māui snorted. "You're a vain little thing, aren't you? Alright, you can be Ātaahua. Ata for short, because we met in the morning. How does that sound?" He flashed a dimpled grin at the crab, who, after a moment of contemplation, nodded.

"Well, now that's settled, I really do think you boys should get to bed," Te Fiti ventured.

"But Fiti," Māui whined, "it's still light out!"

Indeed, the island was bathed in an unnatural amber glow. The goddess frowned. She could have sworn that she'd watched the sun set hours ago — that, just a short while before, the sky had been dark and starry. A deep rumble interrupted her thoughts, and a very familiar smell of sulphur wafted over to the trio. Evidently Māui recognized it too, because he cowered behind Te Fiti, one hand placed protectively on Ata's shell.

A tall, sturdy woman whose thick, matted hair was arrayed around her head like wisps of smoke and whose eyes glowed black as obsidian stepped into the clearing. "Tūtū Pele," Te Fiti said, rising to greet the older goddess.

"Te Fiti," Pele said, inclining her head ever-so-slightly. "Māui-tikitiki-a-Taranga. And…" Her unreadable gaze shifted to Ātaahua, "…companion."

"Tūtū Pele!" Māui exclaimed, giving her his most frantically charming grin. "I'm really really _really_ sorry about the whole prank thing I swear I won't do it ever again please don't set my hair on fire-"

Pele raised a thick eyebrow. "Silence, demigod. I am not sure where you got the notion that I'm planning to set your hair on fire, but I assure you that is not the case." Turning toward Te Fiti, she added, "I felt it, you know."

"Felt what?" Te Fiti asked innocently, although she already had a glimmering of what Pele was referring to.

Pele fixed her with a stony expression. "You are very powerful, Te Fiti — far more than even you yourself know, for you hold the entirety of life in your body." Glancing briefly at Ātaahua, she added, "Be careful how you wield that power. If I could feel the beat of your heart, all the way on the western side of the ocean… So could others, whose interests are far less benign than mine."

The night was muggy, but Te Fiti felt a chill creep up her spine. "I—" she began, but Pele cut her off with a raised hand.

"There is no need to apologize to me," Pele said. "You did what you believed was right. Now you must face the consequences head-on. I can only wish you luck." She swept around, her smoky hair nearly touching the fire, and made to leave — but, on a sudden whim, turned back. "Oh — little Māui?"

"Yes, Tūtū Pele?"

Pele looked at him from under her eyelashes, lips curling up in a way which made his stomach clench in fear. She snapped her fingers, and he instinctively flinched back—

—Only to be doused, from head to toe, in fine volcanic ash. Māui spluttered, dumbfounded, just his eyes visible under the coating of black. Te Fiti and Ata laughed uproariously, and Pele produced a chuckle like the flow of lava. "Careful who you prank," she said, and with a noise like grating rocks she vanished, plunging the island into darkness once more.

* * *

Māui didn't stop flying until he was all the way at the edge of the beach. Gasping for air, he shifted back from hawk form and leaned against a palm tree, wiping futilely at the cold sweat on his forehead and back. "Gods," he whispered, sliding down into the sand.

The day had started well enough. He had been taking a stroll in a hitherto-yet-unexplored part of the forest. Ata was napping, so Te Fiti had offered to accompany him — but Māui was eleven now, and had begun to chafe at the idea of needing a chaperone. So he'd set out alone, armed with a basket of bananas, his trusty hook, and a healthy thirst for adventure.

And, by the Gods, he'd found it.

The place had seemed innocuous enough: a picturesque cliff leading to a series of pools, most of them invitingly green and still. With an exultant "Chee-hoo!", Māui had dived headlong into one of them, face and skin blurring into a beak and feathers moments before he hit the cool water. He had spent an enjoyable fifteen minutes alternating between bird and human forms, eating bananas and splashing aimlessly around, before he saw it: a flash of hot pink in a neighboring pool. Curious, he clambered out of the pool, shifted into a beetle, and crept forward.

That's when the largest and most colorful tentacle he'd ever seen shot out of the water, towering far above the treetops. Māui's six legs has collapsed under him. He'd stood frozen, jaw hanging open, as the tentacle had casually snatched an entire bird's nest out of a tree and pulled it underwater, leaving a few ripples behind.

Māui had only snapped out of it when he'd seen the tip break the surface again, flinging twigs and a few fragile bones onto the bank. With an agility he hadn't known himself capable of, he'd morphed forms and streaked upward, winging it away as fast as he could.

He'd have to keep an eye on this area… if he could ever bring himself to return.

* * *

Ata ran. He barreled through the beach at lightning speed, shooting past Te Fiti's feet and ignoring the goddess's bemused greeting. He ran so fast his eyestalks ached and his vision blurred, only stopping when he slammed right into something large, soft, and ten-fingered.

One year into their time together, Māui was still able to cup the crab in both hands and easily carry him around — although that might have had as much to do with the demigod's own size and strength as it did with Ata's diminutive stature. He did that right now, lifting Ata up to eye level and fixing him with a quizzical stare. "Any reason why you were bolting around like a panicky minnow, buddy?"

"Brother," Ata panted, catching his breath.

"Tried to eat you again, huh."

Ata nodded wordlessly.

"Want me to crush him?" Māui asked, brandishing his hook.

"You are not stealing that pleasure from me," Ata said, raising his pincers. "I'm not going to be this small forever, you know. And once I get big enough…" He clacked one pincer shut and grinned ferociously.

Māui couldn't help but laugh. "Hey, I meant to find you. I want to show you something, but…" His face grew serious, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "You've got to promise to keep quiet about it. I don't want to worry Fiti."

"So you're going to worry _me_ instead," Ata groused. "Wonderful."

Māui didn't acknowledge his companion's complaint. "Remember what Tūtū Pele said last time she visited?" he asked, brushing past a few ferns as he ventured deeper into the jungle. "About Te Fiti's heart being in danger?"

"Every word," Ata said impatiently. "Get to the point, will you?"

Māui stopped short at the edge of a steep cliff and pointed at the deep, glossy purplish-black pool of fresh water which lay directly below his finger. "Well, check this out."

"That's water, Māui," Ata said, in the sort of tone one would use to address a small, exceptionally dull child.

"No, wait! There!"

The crab looked again, and immediately reared back. The pool's surface wasn't calm anymore. Rising from the dark water was an unbelievably, impossibly long tentacle. Stripes of luminous pink and crimson stretched across its length, which Ata estimated to be roughly ten times Māui's height. "Holy gods," he whispered, torn between awe and terror.

"This isn't even the weirdest thing here," Māui whispered back. "I've been watching it for the last few months, and I've seen moʻo, shark kupua, taniwha… The works! And you know what I think?"

For once, Ata was too shocked to make a snide comment about his surprise at Māui's being able to actually think. "What?" he asked softly.

"I think," Māui said, pausing dramatically, "that this place is a portal. A portal to…" He stood, sweeping his arms out and nearly shaking Ata off in the process, "Lalotai — the Realm of Monsters! And," he added, his tone ominous, "I bet they're here for the Heart of Te Fiti."


	2. The Trouble with Tentacles

Chapter 2: The Trouble with Tentacles

The first true, in-the-flesh monstrous encounter Ātaahua ever had happened on his birthday. It was the second birthday he'd had on the island, and he greatly looked forward to another year of _not_ running for his life from his perpetually-ravenous brothers.

Ata had always been an early riser, preferring the cool dawn to the short, blinding daylight hours — but that day, he slept in. When he finally, reluctantly cracked one eye open, sunlight pierced through his nest and made his head ache. "Ugh," he mumbled, sinking into his shell and tugging a banana leaf over the opening.

But the leaf was promptly yanked back, and a disgustingly chipper voice boomed in front of him. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty! It's already bright out, and you don't want to wake up after sunset!"

"Go away, Māui."

"Come on, no love for the pun? I mean, I called you a sleeping _beauty_ , and your name is—"

"I _know_ what my name is. What does Māui-tikitiki-a-Taranga mean — 'inconsiderate idiot who doesn't have any concept of personal space'?"

Ata could almost _hear_ Māui's pout. "Hey, I just wanted to give you a present. It's your birthday, isn't it?"

Something tantalizingly heavy and sloshy dropped to the ground in front of Ata's nest. The crab poked one eyestalk out, and was met with the sight of the biggest, most toothsome coconut he'd ever set his eyes upon. "This is a bribe, isn't it?" he said, eyes narrowing.

"No, no, of course not! Why, I'm offended that you'd even think such a thing. This is just a gift for my best friend, who's turning… Er, how old are you?"

Ata narrowed his eyes at Māui, torn between hunger and caution. Māui stared back, smile broad and innocent. Finally, the crab gave in, emerging from his shell and cracking the coconut with one powerful pincer. "Thanks," he said, a trifle grudgingly.

"Great! Now that you're up, I'd like to show you something."

Ata groaned. "I knew it. I _knew_ it! And no, Māui, you are not showing me anything. I still remember the last time you said those words to me. I assure you, I've got absolutely _no_ desire to see any more tentacled abominations."

"No tentacles!" Māui said hastily. "This is a _good_ thing. I promise."

"Does it involve eating fruit and napping? Because that's what my plan for today was."

"No, but it's _better_!"

"I… You know what? You will pester me until I agree to come, so… fine. Fine. I will accompany you. Just — please, do not get me killed."

Māui dimpled. "Great! You can finish eating that along the way."

"Can you at least tell me where we're going?"

"You'll see."

Ata did not, in fact, see — mostly because the path Māui was taking snaked through a particularly dense section of the jungle, one which Ata had never felt the inclination to explore. As he slogged through the damp, fragrant earth, brushing past ferns and blowing the occasional spider away from him, he felt his spirits sink lower and lower. "Māui, it's already pitch dark—"

"We're here!"

Ata skidded to a stop and squinted through the gloom. "We're where?"

"Oh, sorry." There was a whoosh, and Māui's hook flickered blue in his hand, throwing his excited face into sharp relief. "Better?"

"That depends on where we are," Ata said.

Māui silently pointed his hook forward, illuminating the gaping mouth of a wide cavern; Ata could just make out the faintest glow issuing from inside. "Come on," the demigod said. "You'll _love_ what I found in here, Mister Pretty."

"Don't call me that," Ata grumbled, but his curiosity was piqued. He followed Māui, treading carefully to make sure he didn't get his legs caught in any crevices. As the pair ventured deeper into the cave, the weak glow Ata had noticed at the entrance grew stronger — until suddenly, the two of them rounded the corner and stepped into a dazzling display. The entire far side of the cave wall was covered in something Ata could only describe as jellied sunlight. It shimmered hypnotically, its radiance far softer and more agreeable to him than the rays of the sun. "Whoa," he murmured, eyes glazing over.

"That's nothing. Check out the ceiling," Māui whispered.

Ata tilted his eyestalks up up and let out a tiny gasp. The stone above him was criss-crossed with brilliant, pulsing tracks of color. There was blue the hue of the tides; red like a ripe mango; clear green, psychedelic pink, flaming orange.

"Happy birthday, Mister Pretty," Māui said fondly. "I knew you'd like it here."

Ata opened his mouth, and a low rumble echoed around the cavern.

Māui gave him a look of concern. "You okay, buddy? Was the coconut rotten or something?"

"That wasn't me!" Ata said snappishly.

"Then what—"

Māui's question answered itself as another rumble sounded, accompanied by a series of squelches. A moment later, a massive and many-hued tentacle slid through the room's entryway; it was quickly followed by seven more. Atop the writhing mess sat a huge octopus's head, its eyes blazing as they settled on the two intruders. The behemoth regarded them for a moment, then roared, raising two arms and bringing them down with a wet slap. "Who dares to enter my home?"

"Oh, gods," Māui whimpered.

Next to him, Ata let out a very undignified squeak of terror. "You promised there wouldn't be tentacles!"

"That's because I wasn't expecting any!"

"You!" the mammoth octopus growled, pointing straight at Māui's chest. "You know where it is!"

Māui blinked. "Defining 'it' would be helpful."

Evidently, sarcasm had been a mistake. The octopus bellowed again, wrapping a thick arm around the demigod and lifting him clean off the floor. "Don't act dumb! Where is the Heart of Te Fiti?"

"In Te Fiti, presumably," Māui said, trying to keep his cool and prevent his voice from shaking too much. He darted a glance at Ata, one which clearly read: _Help me, please._

"This _is_ Te Fiti!" the beast screamed, then halted in its tracks, a look of confusion crossing its face. "Isn't it?"

Ata leapt at the chance. "It could be," he said, crawling forward and nodding sagely. "Then again, who's to say it isn't not not Te Fiti, or that it was never not ever Te Fiti?"

The octopus slowly swiveled to face Ata. "What are you saying, little snack? Is this or isn't this Te Fiti?"

Ata ignored the slight and pretended to think for a moment. "Yes," he said decisively.

"What?!"

Māui, cottoning on, jumped in. "The real question is, is this place really not not not not not not not Te Fiti, on an existential sort of level?"

" _What_?!" The octopus turned back to Māui, and Ata took the opportunity to study the wall behind them, searching for footholds.

"Oh, but what if—"

"Silence!" Cutting Māui off, the octopus shook its head and squirmed. "Enough games! You will tell me the whereabouts of the heart, or— or I will eat you!"

"But if you eat me, you'll never find out the heart's location," Māui pointed out.

The octopus paused. "That's fair… All right, how about I eat the crab instead? No wait, I was planning on doing that anyway. Maybe I— AARGH!" Its eyes widened in pain and the arm that held Māui came plummeting down to the cavern's floor, landing with a resounding thump.

Māui tossed the limp piece of flesh off and lifted his hook high into the air, transforming into hawk form. "Chee-hoo!" he screeched, soaring up and pecking the octopus square in the eye. The creature screamed in agony again, and — without another word — turned to flee. Shifting back, Māui yelled, "Hey! Not so fast, Octopus Balls." The octopus stopped dead in its tracks. "I want you to deliver a message to all of the other suckers who are even thinking about stealing Te Fiti's heart." Scowling thunderously, he continued, "First, they've got to get past Māui-tikitiki-a-Taranga, Demigod of the Wind and Sea, and his companion, Ātaahua the Clever. And believe me — we are _not_ easy to take down. Understand?" The octopus evidently did, because it nodded frantically and vanished, leaving only a trail of thick red blood behind.

"You're welcome," Ata said to Māui, dropping down beside the demigod and delicately licking blood off a pincer. "Oh, this tastes _vile_. I'm counting this as my worst birthday ever, by the way. It even beats out the time my eldest brother almost ate one of my antennae."

"That… was _awesome_ ," Māui panted, starry-eyed.

"You have sparkly octopus slime all over you… ah, so that's what the decor is."

Māui pawed at his chest and made a face when his hand came away coated in jelly. "Gross."

"I don't know — it's kind of an improvement, actually."

Māui wrinkled his nose and waved his hand at Ata, dismissing the comment. "Come on, man, you have to admit that kicking that thing's butt was _so cool_." Dreamily, he added, "That's what I want to do, you know. When I'm finally allowed off the island."

"What, kick octopus butt?"

"Fight monsters! Protect people! Save stuff! Be a hero!" Māui looked at Ata out of the corner of his eye. "You know, you'd be a great sidekick."

Ata huffed. "Who are you calling a sidekick? _I'm_ the one who did all the dirty work."

"Fine. Partner, then."

"Maybe," Ata said. He had never thought of himself as the heroic type. Māui, certainly: his friend was always charging into sticky situations. Ata himself was far too wary and… and _sensible_ to participate in such shenanigans. Really, the thought was ludicrous.

But he'd never felt quite as important and brave and, yes, exhilarated, as he did just now. _Ātaahua the Clever_ , Māui had called him. He liked the sound of that. "Maybe," he said again, less skeptically than before.

Māui grinned. "I'll take that as a yes! Now, let's go make this your _best_ birthday ever. Oh! And if Fiti asks where we've been, tell her we were picking bananas, okay? I don't want to freak her out."

* * *

In a dim, dank, dripping cavern in the heart of the Realm of Monsters, a truce had been called. A veritable rainbow of otherworldly beasts had gathered to sup with each other, a far cry from their usual pastime of supping _on_ each other. The peace was tense, but firmly upheld — apart from the odd shove or irritated chomp of the jaws, the denizens of the Realm of Monsters ate their dinner and made conversation amongst themselves in relative tranquility.

"I'm sorry about your husband," a creature that appeared to be the pockmarked lovechild of a bat and a tarantula was saying to another. "Walking straight into a boiling geyser — what a way to go."

"Eh," the second shrugged. "He _was_ trying to push _me_ in, you know. Plus," she added, gesturing to the covered dish before her, "he goes marvelously with baked sweet potato."

A watery snap resounded from the head of the table, immediately hushing the crowd. All eyes turned toward its source: an absolutely gigantic man at least fifteen feet tall, whose silvery pale skin spoke of years spent out of the sunlight. In one hand he held the remains of a coconut, which he had evidently crushed with his bare fist. "Greetings," he said, flashing his audience a grin which displayed rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth. "I would hope that you all know why I have called you here… but I've never had much trust in the collective intellect around here, so I'll explain anyway."

A few monsters looked mildly offended at the insult, but no one spoke up; their host had a reputation for not taking kindly to argumentativeness.

"Brothers, sisters, and everything in between," the giant continued. "How many of you have been slighted by the gods?"

A whisper buzzed through the group as its members exchanged nervous glances. Finally, a brave soul lifted one claw, which was cautiously followed by a variety of other appendages from various other creatures.

"Gege struck me from my island and condemned me to Lalotai, all for stealing one puny human child," the bat-tarantula said slowly.

"Pele singed my face off because she believed I had slighted her in refusing to make her an offering," a masked creature susurrated, curling its four paws into tight fists.

"Māui, that tiny pest, kicked me in the snout just because he was bored!" a moʻo fumed. "I don't know why the gods favor him. He's such a brat, always swinging around that hook and acting like he's a divine gift—"

As each volunteer shared their grievances, the crowd grew more enthusiastic, and its host looked increasingly triumphant. "We have _all_ been playthings of the gods!" he bellowed. "And so we shall remain for all eternity — the dregs of the world, condemned to its barren nether regions. Unless…" He trailed off, observing the interest dawning on the faces of the crowd. "Unless we can find a way to show the gods what we are capable of. Do something unquestionably great."

"Like what?" an exceptionally bold taniwha ventured.

The giant man smiled again and turned to a corner of the assembled group, beckoning. After a moment of hesitation, a brilliantly pink-and-red octopus jetted out to rest beside him. Each of its seven remaining arms was the length of a large waka ama, and a single one of its eyeballs was as big as a full-grown man's head. On one side, a stump was clearly visible, throwing the creature's movements slightly off kilter as it approached the front.

"How about," the giant said, eyes wide with hunger, "stealing the heart of Te Fiti?"

* * *

"I do not think you understand the extent of my generosity, little Māui-tikitiki-a-Taranga."

Māui bit back a retort about how he couldn't really be considered little, anymore. "I do, Tūtū Pele, I swear I do."

"Ending your sentence a year early means that I have trust in your common sense," Pele said, fixing him with a smoldering gaze. "I do not want to find out that such trust is misplaced. As a matter of fact, I've got half a mind to tack on an extra year, just to make sure."

"Please—" Māui began, but was cut off by a gentle pinch to his ankle.

"If I may, Tūtū Pele," said a childish voice which was just beginning to show the first signs of cracking. Pele's eyes swung down to Ātaahua, nestled in the sand beside Māui's feet. The crab was larger than she remembered. Where he had once fit into Māui's palm, he now stood at half the goddess's height, and was easily thrice the width of the average coconut crab. He'd grown his own carapace, too; it shone a muted deep purple in the afternoon sun. "I have grown very familiar with Māui over the last four years, and I would like to speak on his behalf," Ātaahua said quietly.

Pele quickly hid the fleeting look of surprise on her face. "Go on, then," she said, turning her burning gaze full-force to the crab.

Ata clicked his pincers softly in an attempt to steel his nerves. "Well. After having known Māui for this long… I can confirm that he does, in fact, have the brainpower of a squashed banana." Ignoring the demigod's affronted look, he continued, "He is reckless and rarely thinks through his actions. I have my doubts that he even _remembers_ his past mistakes, let alone learns from them."

Pele crossed her arms. "You call this 'speaking on his behalf'?"

"With all due respect, Tūtū Pele, I am not finished. You see, for all his faults, Māui has one great strength." Ata broke out his signature weapon: a slightly crooked, gap-toothed, winning smile which never failed to soften even the toughest customer. "He's got me."

Pele snorted, a tendril of smoke curling from her nose. "You?"

"Me," Ata confirmed. "There's a reason he hasn't gotten into trouble these last four years. I'm the one who pulls him back from jumping straight into the thick of danger without a second thought. If you only knew the number of idiotic pranks I've talked him out of, you'd probably ground him for the next hundred years."

"Hm," Pele said, eying Māui.

" _Not_ helping!" Māui hissed.

Ata paid him no mind. "But," he said, "my point is: he didn't actually _pull_ a single one of them."

The volcano goddess contemplated this for a while, before turning to the fourth — and, as yet, silent — member of the party. "Te Fiti, you have watched over the child for the last four years. What is your view on the matter?"

Te Fiti rose. "I do not think it is fair to call Māui a child," she said, causing the demigod to preen. "He is fourteen now, nearly a man. I have seen him grow more responsible than I would have thought possible… and, I admit, that is at least partly due to Ātaahua's influence."

"Hm," Pele said again. "Very well. Māui-tikitiki-a-Taranga, I hereby lift your punishment. You are free to go where you will… _Provided_ that the crab comes along, seeing as he is apparently your voice of reason."

Māui whooped and leapt into the air, shifting into his hawk form mid-spring. He landed on Ātaahua's broad shell, eliciting a grimace and a few choice insults from the crab, before sliding off and morphing back. "Chee-hoo!" he crowed.

Pele threw him a distasteful glance. "Do not make me regret this," she said, her voice fading as smoke swirled around her disappearing form.

Once she was gone, Māui turned to Ata. "You didn't have to be so harsh," he said, a touch sullen.

"I told her what she wanted to hear," Ata said smugly. "And it worked, didn't it?"

Māui had to admit that much. "So," he said, face lighting up, "shall we set off?"

"How? We don't have a canoe."

"Don't you?" Te Fiti asked, thoroughly startling Māui and Ata; they'd nearly forgotten about her presence. Her eyes crinkling in a smile, she overturned the log she had been sitting on. Except it wasn't a log at all, but an intricately decorated waka ama, of exactly the perfect dimensions for a fourteen-year-old demigod and his oversized crustacean friend.

Māui's jaw dropped. "You… made this? For me?"

Te Fiti inclined her head. "I've been preparing for this day for the last four years. I had a feeling Pele would come around." There was a hint of sadness in her voice which almost — _almost_ — put a damper on Māui's enthusiasm.

"We'll be back soon," he said firmly. "We're going to visit all the time." Dropping to his knees and assuming an uncharacteristically solemn tone, he added, "Te Fiti, Goddess of Life, Mother of the Islands. I, Māui, Demigod of the Wind and Sea, as well as my companion Ātaahua, humbly seek your blessings for the journey on which we are about to embark."

"Rise, Māui," the goddess said tenderly. "You _never_ do anything humbly, my dear honeycreeper. There is no need to be formal with me." Abruptly, she reached up and pulled the surprised demigod into a tearful hongi. "No matter where you go, no matter what you do, you will always be my little Māui," she whispered. "And my blessings will forever be with you — remember that."

To his deep embarrassment, Māui felt his own eyes grow damp. He thought about all the times Te Fiti had lovingly scolded and pampered and mothered him — how she'd set aside the best fruit for him, and carefully untangled his hair, and embraced him as when he'd cried over his parents' betrayal. He briefly wondered whether he should voice his fears about her heart and the portal to Lalotai, but dismissed the idea: there has been no incidents for the last two years, not even a single monster sighting. It wouldn't do to make her feel any worse right now; he'd just have to make sure to stop by frequently and check up on her. So instead, he settled for simply saying, "Thank you, Fiti."

The goddess grinned and ruffled Māui's shoulder-length curls — no mean feat, as he was well over a head taller than her. Ātaahua chuckled under his breath at the sight, but quickly stopped when Te Fiti turned to him. "Ata," she said, and bent to press her forehead against the base of his eyestalks. "Take care of him, will you? Make sure he comes back in one piece."

For a fleeting second, Ata was too dumbfounded by the action to reply. "I'll do my best," he said, once he had recovered his wits.

Te Fiti straightened up. "Good," she said, and flicked her wrists. A shower of heady frangipani and hibiscus blossoms swirled through the air, landing on the voyagers' heads and lining the inside of the canoe. Another flick of her wrist propelled the boat smoothly through the sand and into the water.

Māui turned to Ata. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Ata said. "I mean no! Almost. I've got one last thing to do."

"What is it?"

"Wait right here," Ata said cryptically, before scurrying off into the sand.

* * *

"It's good to meet a man after my own heart."

A laugh, deep and throaty, bounced off the cave walls. "You insult both of us when you compare us to mere men."

"True, brother. So — have we a deal?"

"I believe we do."

The shadowy god and the grey giant exchanged twin sharp smiles, then grasped each other's hands in an action that would change the very course of history.

"So be it."


	3. Heartache

Chapter 3: Heartache

Loto had been missing for three days now.

Initially no one had been too worried. The child had always had his head in the clouds, and was prone to wandering off for long periods of time with no prior notice. Not the best trait, given his position as the future Chief of the island of Motualā; but no amount of scolding and wheedling had snapped Loto out of it.

That morning Loto had left at the crack of dawn, clutching a wood block and a knife. His mother, the esteemed Chief Elei, had watched him amble away, wondering whether to stop him but ultimately deciding that it would be no use. When he did not return for his midday meal, or to help prepare for the feast that night, the Chief sent a few men out to haul him back — but they returned empty-handed.

Evening had fallen, and the feast had commenced. Palusami, poi, and hot meat fresh from the umu were divided amongst the participants — and still Loto did not come. When the sky had turned indigo and the first stars had flickered to life, Chief Elei had begun to grow truly concerned. She remembered the other disappearances that had occurred over the last few weeks: Teuila had vanished whilst picking flowers; on the same day, Hawea had gone to fish in the shallows and had never returned; the only trace of Lagi that had been found was a scrap of his lava-lava. No one had suspected anything unusual at the time. It was common knowledge that Teuila and Hawea had been lovers despite their parents' disapproval, and so must have sailed off together. Lagi, meanwhile, was nearing one hundred years of age and had begun to forget things, like where his hut was or who his sons were. He had often strayed into the forest in the past — so no one would have been surprised if he'd wandered back out, face dirty and lava-lava tattered, mumbling about the quality of esi. But Loto— Loto was different. He was eight years old, as yet untouched by romantic entanglements or clouded by age. And he had _never_ missed a feast before.

The Chief had risen from her seat and picked up her ta fesilafaʻi, her face grim. "I'm going to search for my son," she'd said, and the crowd immediately rose with her. A handful of the strongest, sharpest men and women of the village had accompanied her into the jungle. They'd scoured Loto's old haunts for two full days, barely stopping to eat or sleep, but no trace of him had been found — until the morning of the third day. As Chief Elei rubbed the dust from her bloodshot eyes and tried to still the worry in her chest, a woman approached her, head hanging low.

"What is it?" the Chief asked, but the woman remained silent. Solemnly, she raised her hands and opened them, displaying the items that lay in her palms:

A little knife and a half-finished wood carving, both sprinkled in dried brown blood.

* * *

"I _still_ can't believe you really _ate_ your brothers before we left," Māui said, looking torn between repulsion, amusement, and boyish fascination.

"Only one of them," Ata said, looking pleased with himself. "And may I remind you, _he_ tried to eat me first." Ata had never experienced any particularly fond emotions for his biological family. They were, after all, the same lot who'd dubbed him an appetizer and tried to chew off various body parts from him since birth. It was only fair that, now he'd grown so much larger than them, he should return the favor. Māui, being human — in a manner of speaking, anyway — couldn't fathom this attitude, and had brought the incident up nearly every day over the last few weeks.

Māui shook his head and peered at the darkened sky, studying the stars through his outstretched hand. "I do not get you, man."

"Neither could my brother. _I_ got him instead."

Māui snorted at the comment. "Of course you did." Plopping back down onto the bottom of the waka, he dipped his hand into the water and wiggled his fingers alongside the boat, sighing in contentment. "Hey, wanna go for a swim?"

His companion fixed him with an unimpressed stare. "Māui, coconut crabs can't swim. I'll die if I jump in there… And believe me, if that happens, I _will_ come back as a vengeful spirit and haunt you forever."

"Suit yourself," Māui said, setting his hook down. With a spirited yell he plunged into the sea, bobbing up to spit out a mouthful of salty water. "I think I swallowed a fish," he gagged.

Ata settled down in the waka, resting his head on his claws and coolly regarding Māui. "Why don't you make yourself useful and catch me some?"

"You just ate an entire bunch of bananas!"

"That was hours ago."

Māui laughed and ducked underwater, his curls trailing on the glassy black surface before disappearing into the deep. Just when Ata had begun to consider calling Māui's name, the demigod resurfaced with a sizable mahi-mahi clasped in his arms. "Here," he gasped, tossing it Ata, who caught it in one pincer.

"Huh. Didn't expect you to actually do it."

"I know what you're like when you're hungry," Māui said, grinning. "Another few minutes and you'd have been eying _me_."

"Eating one brother was quite enough, thanks." The words slipped from Ata's mouth automatically, and in the short silence afterward he desperately hoped that Māui hadn't heard them.

"Did you just—"

"Go," Ata snapped, blushing a deep purple. "If you're going to continue splashing around like a dimwitted dolphin, at least catch me another fish."

For one dangerous moment Māui hesitated, questions writ large across his face. But then he shrugged and brushed a lock of wet hair from his eyes. "All right," he said finally, before diving back down. Ata let out a quiet breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

A minute passed. Then another, and before Ata knew it ten had slipped by with not a trace of Māui to be seen. Ata wondered whether Māui had changed form, to a dolphin or shark or something of the sort — but then he remembered what the demigod had once said: _"I can't shapeshift without my hook."_ And there Māui's hook lay, on the bottom of the waka where he'd left it before his swim.

"Māui?" Ata said tentatively. No reply. "Māui!" he called again, louder than before. "I asked you to catch a fish, not to _drown_!" He twisted his eyestalks over the side of the boat, studying the unnervingly calm ocean. "Māui…? Can you hear me?"

An eardrum-shattering splash resounded and Māui crashed to the surface, dripping wet and clinging onto a piece of driftwood. "You idiot—" Ata began, but fell silent when he saw that Māui was _still_ rising. The young demigod's expression was one of panic, and the crab soon realized why: Māui hadn't been holding driftwood. No — his arms were wrapped around a huge shark's fin, at least as long as Ata was wide.

"Taniwha!" Māui croaked.

"Are you sure it isn't just a big shark?" Ata asked, one eyestalk shifting forward.

Māui glared at him. "It _told_ me _exactly_ how it was going to disembowel and eat me! _In very graphic detail_!"

"Okay, okay," Ata said quickly. "Stay calm. I'll— I'll throw you your hook—"

"I can't catch it," Māui said through gritted teeth. "My hands are kinda occupied here. And I can't get back in the water — this thing will tear me apart!" As if on cue, the fin began to shudder violently, tossing Māui around like a rag doll.

Ata's mind began to race. _How do you defeat a taniwha?_ Te Fiti had told Māui and him countless stories about past heroes and their exploits, including their victories over various malevolent monsters. He remembered her talking about moʻo and murderers and menehune — but he was drawing an utter blank on taniwha.

"Little help, here!" Māui yowled, his teeth chattering with the force of the vibrations. In another moment he would fall into the water, completely at the taniwha's mercy. Ata's eyes darted wildly from side to side, scanning the boat for something — anything — he could use to distract the beast. His eyes settled on the bone fishhook, glinting under the light of the moon…

 _Oh, Māui'd kill me._

 _Not if the taniwha does it first._ _I mean, this idea is demigod-level idiotic._

 _But I can't just_ let _him_ die _. He's my friend! Practically my brother, and not the appetizing kind._

 _Besides_ _… I need him to sail this boat._

And just like that, Ata made his choice. Picking up the hook in one claw and letting out a crazed war cry, he flung himself off the waka's side and landed smack on the enraged taniwha's snout.

"What— Is that my hook?!"Māuicried.

"Yep," Ata said, raising said object high above his antennae and bringing it down onto the taniwha's head with a satisfying thwap.

Māui gaped. "What in Tagaloa's name are you doing?"

"Distracting it, so you can escape." _Thwap_.

"You'll break my hook!"

"Doubt it," Ata said, and thwapped the taniwha again.

"Seriously, man, you're gonna…" Māui trailed off, his aghast expression switching to one of confusion. "Hey, my head's stopped spinning." Indeed, the taniwha had gone very still. Ata glanced down; under the water, he could see that its eyes were closed.

"I think you killed it," Māui said, admiringly. "Whoa, Mister Pretty. Didn't know you had it in you."

"Hang on," Ata replied, watching as the taniwha's eyes fluttered open. "Māui, it's waking up! Get back in the boat NOW!"

Māui didn't need to be told twice. In one flying leap, he had reached the waka and was huddled safely on its floor. "Come on, buddy! Jump!" he yelled, stretching his arms out toward Ata.

Ata steadied his shaking legs and glanced downward at the dark, bottomless sea which could so easily swallow a crab in its depths. If Māui couldn't catch him… But a weak movement from below reminded him why it was necessary to take that chance. Drowning would surely be preferable to getting ripped to shreds by an angry, gargantuan shark with a headache. He took a deep breath, crouched low, and…

"Master?"

The gravelly voice startled Ata so badly he fell headfirst into the ocean, salt stinging his eyes as he scrabbled to reach the surface. He could hear Māui frantically calling out to him, the demigod's voice distorted by the roiling waves. "Help!" he tried to scream, but water bubbled into his mouth and cut his breathing off. He could feel himself sinking deeper and deeper—

Until, quite suddenly, he wasn't. Something had caught him, and was gently nudging him upward. He broke the surface, gasping, and Māui quickly hauled him onboard. "You okay?"

"It saved me," Ata said, dumbfounded.

"What?"

"The… the taniwha. It dragged me back up after I fell, and— and it called me—"

"Master," the voice said again, "are you alright?"

Māui and Ata jumped simultaneously.

"You nearly drowned," it continued. "It's lucky I was there to catch you."

"Lucky," Māui snorted. Then his eyes widened. "Hey! Remember when Fiti told us the story of Tamure? The man who tamed a taniwha by—"

"Hitting it on the head!" Ata exclaimed, the memory rushing back to him.

"So that means you— with my hook—"

"Master," the taniwha cut Māui off, "are there any other services you require of me?"

"How about taking us to the nearest island?" Māui asked.

"Silence, demigod!" the taniwha boomed. "I was addressing my master: the mighty purple beast, he of the peerless claws, the one upon whom the sun shines and the flowers fall ceaselessly—"

"Gods," Māui muttered. "I think I liked it more back when it was trying to murder me."

"Don't interrupt it," Ata said, puffing himself up.

"If it's not gonna listen to me, why don't _you_ get it to take us there?"

Ata briefly considered saying no, just to watch the demigod tear his hair out in frustration. But his own desire to step onto dry land and feel the sand on his feet — to see something other than a stretch of endless blue — was too great to ignore. "Taniwha—" he began.

"Awhina. My name is Awhina."

"Awhina, then. Would you be able to take us to a nearby island?"

"Somewhere with people who are in need of a demigod's service," Māui said in a loud whisper.

"What he said," Ata added, clicking a pincer at Māui.

"The island of Motualā is a day's journey west," Awhina said. "The Chief's son and a number of other villagers have recently disappeared from the area. The Chief is desperate for answers. Will that be satisfactory, Master?"

Māui and Ata exchanged glances. "Very," they said in unison.

* * *

Traveling in a waka being dragged by a huge taniwha was an experience Ata never hoped he'd have again. Māui's sailing was bad enough, but Ata had spent the last day flying through the churning water at breakneck speed, attempting to stay steady by wrapping himself tightly around Māui's legs. When the waka finally pulled up alongside the shore of Motualā, Ata had nearly cried in relief.

"You can let go now," Māui said, tapping his companion's shell.

"Sorry," Ata said, unsticking himself from Māui and crawling onto the blessedly dry sand. "Er— thank you, Awhina."

"I am only doing my duty," Awhina said, emerging from under the boat. As Ata and Māui watched, she heaved herself into the shallows and began to flop around wildly, her glistening skin stretching and folding and lightening, and her teeth shrinking into her mouth. When she finally stilled, she was no longer a shark; instead, she'd taken the form of a fowl-sized, bright green gecko. "So that I can accompany you into the village, Master," she said, dusting wet sand off her scales. "Just in case my services become necessary."

"A talking crab _and_ a pet taniwha," Māui said, mouth twitching into a smile. "What's next, a singing octopus?"

"Octopuses are terrible singers," Awhina informed him seriously.

"Probably better than Māui," Ata muttered.

Māui opened his mouth to protest, but wheeled around at the sound of footsteps. A group of islanders were running down the beach, weapons raised and faces set into wary scowls as they regarded the three newcomers. At their head stood a thickset, muscular young woman of middling height, garbed in an elaborate headdress and feathered skirt. She would have been very attractive, Māui thought, had she not currently been placing a blade at his throat and glaring at him ferociously. "Who are you and what business do you have here?" she demanded in a language Māui and Ata recognized as Sāmoan.

Māui stood tall. "I am Māui, Demigod of the Wind and Sea, Hero to All. These are my companions, Ātaahua the Clever and Awhina the Terrible. I set sail from Te Fiti a few weeks ago, hoping to find a place where my help is needed. I've been told that some people have vanished here — including your son?"

The Chief looked Māui up and down. "You're very young to be a Hero to All, aren't you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm fourteen!" Māui said defensively.

"My son is eight," the Chief murmured, and she suddenly looked very weary. "He vanished five days ago, leaving almost nothing behind."

"That's why we're here," Māui said proudly. "We'll find your son, Chief…"

"Elei."

"Chief Elei. I promise."

"There are others, too," Chief Elei said. "A young man and woman, Hawea and Teuila — and an elder, Lagi—"

"We'll find them too!" Māui declared.

The Chief smiled at his enthusiasm, but her eyes stayed sad. "You are welcome to stay with us, Māui, Demigod of the Wind and Sea. We will have a feast tonight in your honor."

"Oh good," Ata said. "I'm starving."

Chief Elei did a double take. "The crab, it— !"

" _He_ ," Ata said, his eyes turning inward in annoyance as the islanders erupted into shocked whispers. "Not 'it'."

"That's Ātaahua," Māui said helpfully.

"Would you like me to bite her for her insolence, Master?"

"Aaand that's Awhina."

The Chief blinked. "I see," she said faintly. "Well. Your… your… companions are all welcome to join the feast as well."

* * *

Te Fiti was not an idiot.

She had felt the portal open years ago, even glimpsed a few monsters on her strolls through the jungle. None of that particularly worried her, for most of the beasts chose to pass by her quietly. And the few that didn't…

Well, she could hold her own.

"Let me go!" the moʻo was screeching, flailing wildly.

"Not until you explain yourself," the goddess said. She had assumed a form halfway between divine and human. Her head was level with the tops of the highest trees on the island, and her hair whipped around her in a tangle of vines with the hapless moʻo bound firmly at its center.

"I can't!" the creature shrieked, but with each movement the vines tightened around its limbs and throat.

"You were stalking me," Te Fiti snarled. "Surely you are not so deluded that you'd hunt a goddess as prey. There is another reason, and you _will_ tell me why, or—"

"Heart," the moʻo choked, eyes bulging. "I was… sent to find your heart."

"Sent by _whom_?" the goddess hissed — but the moʻo had fallen limp. She loosened her grip on it and watched as it fell lifelessly to the sand, a deep mark around its neck. Shrinking slightly, Te Fiti stared at the dead moʻo in dawning horror.

 _I was sent to find your heart._

One hand drifted to her chest, brushing across the steadily beating kahurangi set into her skin. _Pele was right_ , she thought numbly, the memory of the volcano goddess's warning leaping to mind. _Maybe I should send for Māui…_

Then she remembered the joyful expression on his face as he pushed off in his waka for the first time; the way he'd been practically dancing around the boat as he'd sailed away. _No. I can't take that from him._ _I'll be fine on my own._

Bending down, she picked up the vine-wrapped moʻo and began to walk, her steps brisk and angry, until she had reached the deep pool at the center of the forest, the one which contained the entrance to Lalotai. She threw the body in, watching it sink into the purple depths.

 _Let this be a lesson_ , she thought grimly: _this is the price that must be paid by those who try to steal from me_.

* * *

This was undoubtedly the quietest feast Ata had ever attended. Whenever voyagers had stumbled onto Te Fiti's island, she'd always thrown celebrations for them — and they had always been raucous, full of laughter and life and general merriment. But as he sat amongst the silent villagers, watching them pick at their food, he suddenly didn't feel hungry anymore. Glancing over at Māui, he saw that the demigod too looked troubled.

Māui pushed his dinner aside and stood. "If you don't mind, Chief Elei, I would like to start taking a look around the island. See if I can find anything."

"You must be tired," the Chief said. "Rest tonight, and begin your search at first light. Puleleiite?"

A lithe, handsome man rose. "Come," he said, smiling kindly at Māui, Ata, and Awhina. "Let me take you to our guest hut."

The three of them picked their way forward, following Puleleiite as he led them through the dark. "My wife is making herself ill," he said. "I don't blame her. I haven't slept since Loto's…" His voice trailed off.

Māui put a hand on his shoulder. "We're going to help you."

Puleleiite stopped at the entrance to the hut and met Māui's eyes. "Please," he said simply, before turning and melting into the darkness.

* * *

Ata tried to sleep, he really did. But the pinched, scared faces of the Chief and her husband kept popping unheeded into his dreams. He just couldn't fathom it. _His_ parents would never have fretted so much if he'd gone missing. Granted, they'd most likely have _caused_ his disappearance in the first place… But these people were genuinely worried about their son. They _cared_.

Sometimes, Ata wished _his_ parents had cared.

He snuck a glance at Māui, rolling his eyes and chuckling at the way the demigod had rolled onto his stomach, face squashed against his mat as he snored thunderously. Ata decided against waking him up. It was pitch black outside, anyway — too dark for human or demigod eyes, but better suited to his own vision. _Maybe_ , he thought, _I'll be able to spot something — a sign, or a clue — that no one else has. Maybe I'll even find the child_. Silently, he crept outside — and nearly tripped over Awhina, who was sprawled across the doorway. The taniwha harrumphed softly, and one eye began to crack open. "Master?" she whispered groggily.

"Shh," Ata said, awkwardly patting her with one claw. "I'm just, er… answering Nature's call. Go back to sleep."

"Do you require any—"

"No! Nope. All good over here. Now close your eyes…"

"Master, you're shiny," Awhina slurred, before collapsing back onto the ground.

Ata pivoted his eyestalks around to glance at himself, and his jaw fell open. Electric blue and pink striations lit up his legs and what he could see of his face, while his shell shimmered a pale, brilliant turquoise. _Huh. That's never happened before._ He spent a minute basking in his beauty, admiring the colors painted across his body; then, resolving to investigate the mysterious phenomenon later, he turned and began to walk, cutting a glowing path across the vegetation underfoot.

He hadn't gone very far when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of movement. A shadowy figure had exited a hut and was making its way toward the forest, its footsteps rustling softly in the night air and a blade gleaming in its hand.

And, atop its head, Ata could make out a headdress shaped exactly like the Chief's.


	4. Fia'ai

Chapter 4: Fiaʻai

Following Chief Elei through the forest whilst staying hidden was more difficult than Ātaahua had figured. He scurried behind her as quickly and quietly as he could, taking care to duck under leaves and obscure his glow whenever he thought she might turn around. Alas, it was to no avail: after a while the Chief simply melted away into the trees and out of his range of sight. Ata cursed under his breath and considered his options. He _could_ keep trying to find her, running the risks of either getting lost in an unfamiliar jungle or stumbling into any nefarious traps she might have set… _Or_ he could wake Māui up and convince the demigod to run those risks right alongside him.

The better choice was glaringly obvious. Turning tail, Ata traced his path back to the guest hut, gingerly crawling around Awhina and through the doorway. He paused by Māui's side and allowed himself a small smile upon seeing how peacefully his friend was slumbering. Then he very unceremoniously jabbed the tip of one pointy leg into Māui's back. "Hey!" he hissed. "Wake up!"

"Ow!" Māui yelped, shooting bolt upright. "What was _—_ Wait, you're _glowing_! How—"

Ata clamped a pincer over Māui's mouth, muffling the rest of the question. "Wake the whole village, why don't you?" Voice dropping to a murmur and eyes briefly darting toward the hut's entrance, he added, "I don't know why I'm glowing, but that isn't important right now. Look, Māui… Have you noticed anything strange about the Chief?"

Māui pushed Ata's claw away. "Her kid's missing! That's bound to make anyone act like an oddball."

"No, really! I saw her tiptoeing out of her hut earlier, and followed her into the forest—"

"You were awake all this time?" Māui interrupted, quirking his brow.

"You were snoring like a pig with a clogged snout," Ata said, waving the question away. "I couldn't possibly sleep through the ruckus."

"Sorry," Māui said, grinning sheepishly. "You could've woken me up, you know, if I was disturbing you that much."

"Are you joking? I _know_ you needed the rest, Mister A-Real-Wayfinder-Never-Sleeps."

"How considerate of you," Māui said. He laid a hand on Ata and absently ran his fingers across the crab's shell, watching them light up pale blue. "So… do you just glow, or do you have superpowers or something?"

"I don't know," Ata admitted. Truth be told, he had been far too occupied with the Chief's suspicious behavior to give his new appearance and its potential significance much thought. The idea of having powers like Māui's _was_ a rather appealing one…

"What caused it? Do you think it was my hook? Or Te Fiti's magic? Why didn't you start glowing until now? Ooh — maybe it's a sign from the gods that you should find a girl!"

"Eurgh, no _way_."

"Why not? A charming lady decapod who'll swoon over how…big, and— and crabby you are…" Māui waggled his eyebrows and smirked at his friend's embarrassed expression.

Ata swatted at him. "Stop being a twit, and focus! _Why_ would Chief Elei sneak off into the forest in the dead of night?"

"Midnight stroll?"

"Oh yes, of course," Ata said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Some unknown force has been making your fellow villagers disappear. You find bloodstained toys belonging to your missing child… And you decide to go for a _midnight stroll_. Seems _perfectly_ logical to me!"

"All right, all right, how about this?" Māui said. "We wait until morning, and see if anyone else has vanished. If so, we nab the Chief. If not…" He shrugged. "We keep looking."

* * *

Ata awoke to the sound of shouting. He squinted grouchily at the ruckus outside, reluctantly heaving himself upright. Beside him, Māui rubbed the sleep from his eyes and smoothed down his wild hair. "What in Tagaloa's name is happening?" he groaned.

Awhina appeared in the doorway. "Oh, good, you're awake. Master, there's been another disappearance—"

Ata turned to Māui triumphantly. "See? I _told_ you!"

"It was the Chief's mother-in-law," Awhina continued. "The only surviving relative Chief Elei has, apart from her child and her husband. All they've found of the victim so far is a bloodstained lavalava on the floor of her hut, where she slept alone."

"It's just her husband left now," Māui said grimly. "Seeing as Loto and her mother-in-law both…" He gasped, eyes huge. "Wait! Ata! If the Chief is really behind all this, we need to—"

"Warn Puleleiite," Ata finished. "Or he'll be next."

Māui sprang to his feet. "You go find him and explain, I'll get the Chief alone and confront her. Then we meet up and have her lead us to the missing folks. Sound good?"

"How are you going to find me?"

Māui grinned and rubbed his friend's shell. "You're a giant, glow-in-the-dark coconut crab. How hard can it be?"

"I suppose," Ata said, still a trifle unsure.

Awhina immediately scrambled to stand by Ata. "I'll come with you, Master."

" _No_ ," Ata said, exasperated. The novelty of having someone who'd bow to his every whim and tend to all his needs had quickly worn off, and he was beginning to regret allowing the taniwha to tag along on their journey. "You are going to stay _right here_ and wait for us."

Awhina looked deeply injured. "Aren't you being a little harsh, buddy?" Māui mumbled to Ata. "I thought you loved the whole 'Master' shtick. You know, He of the Peerless Claws and Sparkly Eyes or whatever."

"She has no concept of personal space!" the crab retorted in a furious whisper, "Last night, I told her I needed to relieve myself… And she offered to _accompany me_!"

"Oh."

"So _no_ , I don't think I'm being too harsh!"

Māui bit his lip to stop from snickering, and turned to the taniwha. "How about you scout out information from the villagers? Stuff about where the missing people were last seen, and all. Things you think might help our search."

Awhina hesitated, torn between reluctance to obey someone who wasn't her Master and a desire to be useful. "I suppose I could do that," she finally said, loping grudgingly out of the hut.

Ata began to follow suit. He was halfway outside when he suddenly halted and let out a laugh, quick and bitter.

Māui's eyebrows twisted together in confusion. "What's the joke?"

"Last night," Ata said, "I'd been thinking about the Chief. How she was so different from _my_ mother." The mirth on his face dimming, he continued, "It's— it's part of the reason why I couldn't sleep. I kept remembering how worried she looked, and how much she seemed to _care_ about her son, and… I wanted to do something to help."

"Aw, Mister Pretty," Māui said affectionately. "How sweet. Maybe you _do_ have a heart."

"But…" A toothy smirk slowly spread across Ata's face as he gestured to the frantic villagers outside. "I guess she and my mum do have a lot in common after all."

"I was wrong. You are a _terrible_ person… crab … thing."

Ata scoffed. "Articulate as always, I see."

Māui made a face as he followed Ata out the entryway and into the sea of panicked islanders. "The Chief isn't like your mum, you creep. She didn't _eat_ Loto!" he said — but even so, a little smidgen of uncertainty echoed in his voice.

* * *

Pupuka-Maka had been enjoying a very lovely meal of… something (he suspected it was whale blubber, but it was too badly decomposed to tell for sure) when the sky had fallen on his head. One moment he was sitting by the Portal and getting ready to sink his teeth into his food — and the next, he was sprawled flat on his back, dinner knocked from his hands and a large, smelly, cold, scaly _thing_ on his face. Hissing in frustration, he shoved the offending item away and spewed a variety of colorful curses.

Then he stopped short and peered at what had fallen on him. A big moʻo, at least twice his size, and freshly killed, too! Grinning in glee, he kicked his previous meal away and reached for the dead monster. Not even bothering to peel away the vines around the corpse, he bent to take a bite— and a giant, clammy hand clamped firmly around his neck.

For one terrible, terrible moment, Pupuka-Maka found himself completely frozen. He could feel his captor lifting him up off the ground, but simply couldn't spur himself to fight. His claws dangled slackly by his sides as his feet rose higher and higher, until he came face-to-face with a pair of glittering black eyes and a wide mouth studded with shark teeth.

"Didn't see me, did you?" the giant man asked, eyes dancing nastily as he clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. "Shame on you. If I were anyone else, you might have been halfway to digestion by now!"

Pupuka-Maka whimpered, but then the words hit him. "You're— you're not going to eat me?"

"I'm not," the giant confirmed. "Not yet, anyway."

"Wh— why?" The little monster regretted the question as soon as he had blurted it out. But the giant merely threw him a disarmingly friendly smile, and stooped to pick up the moʻo. He considered it for a moment, gently turning it around in his hands — then tossed it whole into his mouth. Pupuka-Maka winced at the sound of snapping bones, but quickly regained his composure when he remembered that he could very well have lost his _life_ , rather than just his dinner.

The giant swallowed and daintily brushed one hand across his mouth. "You see, little bite," he continued, "I think you could be useful." He hauled the other monster a little closer, so that their noses almost touched, and stared him straight in the eye. "For your own sake, don't prove me wrong."

* * *

The Chief's husband was standing outside his hut, club in hand and frown etched across his brows, when Ata managed to find him. He was deep in conversation with another man from the village; in the latter's fists was clutched a lavalava, presumably the one his mother had been wearing. Ata hovered a few steps away from the pair, unsure of how to catch Puleleiite's attention.

He needn't have worried — for just then, the other man bid farewell with a terse nod, leaving Puleleiite alone. The Chief's husband's eyes drifted downward, and widened rather comically when he caught sight of the massive crab waiting patiently beside him. "Er, hello," he said cautiously. "You are the demigod Māui's companion, are you not? Ātaahua the… Clever?"

"That's right," Ata said, feeling a tiny buzz of warmth at hearing the title Māui'd bestowed upon him. "I come bearing an important message."

"Is it about my son?" Puleleiite asked sharply. "Or my mother?"

Ata had never been especially empathetic. In fact, he'd always taken great pleasure in ruthlessly teasing Māui whenever the demigod had teared up over one of Te Fiti's particularly pathos-filled stories. But there was something about the Chief's husband, something in his lost, tired expression, that made Ata feel intensely uncomfortable. The man looked like he'd lost everything in the world. Which, Ata supposed, he had, if you were into the whole _family_ thing. "It's your wife," he said, not quite meeting Puleleiite's eyes.

The man tensed. "Did something happen to her?"

"No," Ata said. "Last night, I saw… Māui and I think…" Lacking the proper words to describe the situation, he cursed mentally.

"Well?" Puleleiite prompted.

Ata took a deep breath. "Look… we, er. We think the Chief isn't being totally honest with you, or the rest of the village. She's hiding something."

"What are you sa—"

"And if our suspicions are correct, you are in a _lot_ of danger right now." Glancing around at the crowd beginning to gather around them, Ata added, "Can we go someplace quiet? I'll try to explain along the way."

Puleleiite looked confused, but nodded. "There's a spot in the forest. It's a long walk, but we won't be disturbed there."

* * *

No sooner had Māui entered the chaotic throng of villagers outside than he was accosted by a group of men and women, each bearing a weapon and a question.

"The Chief's mother-in-law is gone! Are you going to help find her?"

"Do you have any idea where she might be?"

"Could it be a monster?"

"A murderer?"

"Māui, Demigod of the Wind and Sea, let me accompany you on your—"

" _Stop_!" Māui said loudly. It had come out fiercer than he'd intended, and everyone immediately hushed. A few villagers even took a nervous step back, causing a little wisp of guilt to worm into Māui's stomach. He steadied his tone and continued, "Yes, I'm going to help. No, I'm not sure where she is — but that's what I'm gonna find out. Stand back, everyone!"

A ripple of bewilderment spread through the crowd as they moved away, clearing a wide circle around Māui. The demigod lifted his hook and assumed a warlike expression. "Chee-hoo!" he yelled, the hook lighting up blue. Confusion turned to awe as Māui shot into the air, morphing mid-jump into an absolutely enormous hawk. He screeched again, spread his wings, and soared high over the island, reveling in the way the village immediately erupted into admiring exclamations.

It was only a matter of time before he spotted a tiny figure sitting forlornly on a log in the middle of the forest, headdress lying in the dirt by her feet. The Chief's chin was cupped in her hands, and as he swooped closer he could make out fresh tear shining on her cheeks. She didn't _look_ like the sort of person who'd be capable of kidnapping and possibly murdering five people — but then again, Māui reckoned, looks alone didn't mean much.

He landed next to the Chief, causing her to jump up in shock. "Oh," she murmured, once she'd calmed down and taken a good look at him, "you're just a bird." And gently, almost maternally, she began to stroke Māui's feathers. Instinctively, Māui relaxed into the touch, memories of sitting with Te Fiti in exactly the same manner flooding into his mind. He hadn't realized just how much he'd _missed_ the goddess, whom he'd come to think of as a mother of sorts during their time together. It felt nice to be by her side again, to feel her hand on his—

 _Wait_. Māui shook his head and shied away, ruffling his feathers. _She's not Te Fiti, you idiot! This is a suspected killer!_ He leapt off the log and transformed back, ignoring the Chief's cry of surprise. "You!" he said, pointing dramatically at her.

"Māui?" Chief Elei gasped, once she'd regained the power of speech. "You— but—"

Māui decided to cut straight to the chase. "Where did you go last night?" he demanded.

The Chief's jaw dropped. "How did you—"

"Just answer the question!" Māui thrust his face closer to hers, eyes blazing. "Did _you_ have anything to do with the missing people?"

"How dare you?" Now the Chief's expression matched his own in anger. "Is this what you call _helping_ , demigod? Strutting here and baselessly accusing me of harming my own people, whose safety I am constantly working to ensure? My own son, whom I love more than life itself?"

Her words were painfully sincere, and Māui suddenly felt mildly ashamed. Perhaps Chief Elei was behind it all — but then again, perhaps she wasn't. The evidence pointing toward her was… flimsy, at best. "But what about last night?" he said finally, his tone a trifle softer than before. "Why'd you sneak out?"

There ensued a long, tense moment of silence. Chief Elei hung her head, and when she spoke her voice was pained. "I… dreamt of my son," she said at last. "I usually never have dreams, but this one was as vivid as life. I couldn't bring myself to sleep afterward, so I decided to take a walk. To clear my head." She drew a deep breath before continuing. "Loto was trapped inside a hut. The sun had set, but the moon lit the ropes around his wrists and legs. There was a cut running across one hand — it looked fresh. He looked at me, and when he spoke, he sounded so terrified…"

"What did he say?" Māui asked.

"He begged for his father," the Chief said quietly. "Screamed his name until his voice grew too hoarse for him to say any more. That's when I…" Her breathing grew ragged, and she clenched her fists in an effort to hold back tears.

Māui considered her. There was every indication that Chief Elei was telling the truth: that sort of raw emotional display would have been immensely hard to fake. "I'm sorry," he said, awkwardly placing a hand on her shoulder. "I— I shouldn't have assumed…" He cut himself off with a frown. "Hang on."

"What?"

"Te Fiti once told me—"

Chief Elei's mouth fell into a perfect 'O'. " _Te Fiti_? You… have spoken with the Mother Island?"

"Er, yeah," Māui said. "She… she kinda raised me, actually."

"You were _raised_ by the Mother—"

"Anyway!" Māui said hurriedly. "I remember her saying that every dream has some sort of meaning. So maybe the hut you saw Loto in wasn't just your imagination. Maybe you—"

"—had a vision," the Chief finished, biting her lip in thought.

"So… are there any deserted huts in the middle of nowhere around here?" Māui asked.

The Chief started to shake her head, but then her eyes grew wide. "Actually… yes! Our people moved here from another settlement many years ago, in my grandfather's grandfather's era. My mother told me it was because a man had incurred the wrath of a monster, who wreaked havoc on our people until we were forced to abandon our homes and flee."

Māui's expression mirrored hers. "So maybe that monster's come back! Do you know where the old village was?"

"Unfortunately not," the Chief said. "No one's been there for decades. Willingly, at least."

"Well, then," Māui said, swinging his hook, "I guess we're just gonna have to be the first!"

* * *

"You're very large, aren't you?"

The question — the first thing Puleleiite had said since they'd started walking — took Ata by surprise. "Er… yes, I suppose I am," he said.

Puleleiite spread his hands. "Your shell, it's wider than the tallest man in the village. I've never seen a coconut crab your size before. Then again," he added, "I've never heard one talk, either."

Ata didn't quite know how to respond to that, so he settled for a noncommittal twitch of his eyestalks.

"Hm," the Chief's husband said reflectively, his pace picking up.

Ata followed, casting a nervous glance behind. The light filtering through the leaves was already tinted with orange, and shadows slowly stretched across the underbrush. _Māui, where in Tagaloa's name are you_?

"By the way," Puleleiite said, stopping so suddenly that Ata nearly collided with him. "You mentioned my wife?" The man's tone was outwardly neutral, but something nervous lurked underneath, as if almost he didn't want Ata to respond.

"I saw the Chief last night," Ata said, attempting to speak gently. "She slipped out of your hut. I tried following her, but…"

Puleleiite's brows knotted. "You told me you had reason to believe that she's hiding something. Are you— are you implying that Elei did this? That she… my mother— my _son_ —"

"Maybe," Ata admitted. "We don't have proof, so we didn't want to tell the whole village yet — but we wanted to warn you. If she _is_ behind all the disappearances… well, given that your son and mother were the last people who—"

"I'm next," Puleleiite interrupted, expression dark.

"Māui's gone to find her," Ata offered, trying to sound hopeful. _He_ _should have by now. This isn't a particularly large island._ An image surfaced, unheeded, into his mind: Māui lying on the ground with the Chief standing over him, her ta fesilafaʻi raised in threat… Ata gulped and closed his eyes, willing the picture away. For the first time, he began to vaguely understand how Puleleiite might be feeling.

"Elei wasn't there when I woke up," Puleleiite said, speaking almost to himself. "I always rise earlier than her — and yet, when I opened my eyes this morning, she was gone. I haven't seen her all day today." He turned away from Ata and began to stride in an entirely different direction than before, his steps quick and violent. "You mentioned that the demigod is with her?"

"He should be."

"Good." Puleleiite's lips drew back in an animalistic snarl. "Very good."

* * *

In order to speed up their search, Māui had assumed hawk form and flown ahead, keeping an eye out for anything that remotely resembled a long-empty village. Chief Elei had followed, struggling to keep track of the bird high overheard. She hadn't eaten a mouthful of food since the feast last night, and the fatigue and sleeplessness of the previous nights were beginning to truly affect her.

Just as the sun had dipped over the horizon, Māui had let out a screech of excitement and dived straight down, smacking straight into the Chief's face. "Sorry," he panted, shifting back and giving her a sheepish look as she spat out a few hawk feathers. "Didn't mean to hit you. But I think I found it!" He pointed excitedly into a patch of dense brush. "A couple hundred paces in that direction, I could make out a clearing with a bunch of huts in it. I bet that's your village!"

"And my people might be in there," the Chief said, mouth tightening. Shouldering her ta fesilafaʻi, she steeled herself and began to run forward.

* * *

"Where… exactly are we going?"

The Chief's husband didn't bother to look at Ata. "We're almost there, don't worry."

Ata wasn't feeling particularly reassured. "That didn't answer my—"

"You talk an awful lot, don't you?"

The question stung the crab. He didn't think he'd been annoyingly vocal during this journey; not like _Māui_ would've been. Speaking of the demigod… "Do you have any clue where the Chief might have taken Māui?" Ata asked.

"I do," Puleleiite said brusquely.

Ata waited for an explanation, but none appeared to be forthcoming. "Well?" he prompted finally.

Puleleiite turned around, scowling, but reeled back the moment he laid eyes on Ata. "By Kapo," he breathed, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair. "How are you _doing_ that?"

Ata scanned himself. Sure enough, the moment the sun had set, his body had begun to shimmer with brilliantly colored markings. "I… I don't know," he confessed. "It just sort of… happened."

Puleleiite looked almost hypnotized. "Are you from Lalotai…? No, you can't be, I've never seen anything like _you_ down there."

Ata's eyestalks jerked back in shock. "You've been to the Realm of Monsters?!" _No_ human had been to the Realm of Monsters and lived to tell the tale. Māui, naturally, had desperately wanted to visit, but that was where Ata drew the line.

Puleleiite ignored his question. "What— _Oh_!" Realization dawned on his face, and he sucked his breath in sharply. "Of course. You are the companion of Māui… and where has the little demigod been all these years?" His lips curled back, and Ata swore his teeth looked a whole lot pointier than they had earlier. "Te Fiti." He locked his eyes with Ata's. Much to the crab's horror, they weren't brown anymore — instead, they glinted the color of fresh, raw meat. _Red eyes. That's_ never _a good sign_ , Ata thought in dismay.

"Tell me," Puleleiite — was that even his real name? — hissed. "Have you seen the Heart? Have you, perhaps, been _touched_ by it?"

Ata stumbled back in confusion. "What—"

The creature's hand drifted forward to rest on Ata's shell. "Do you hold its power inside your body?" he continued. "If I eat you right now, will that power be transferred to me?"

Terrified, Ata scrambled away as fast as he could. "I— I don't have any powers! And, and I taste terrible! It runs in the family. I should know, I ate my brother a few weeks ago and he made me sick!" (It was a lie: his brother had actually been delicious, but the monster didn't need to know _that_.)

To Ata's surprise, the monster looked almost amused. "Very well," he said, his teeth flattening and eyes melting back into brown. "I will be merciful. I'll wait for the demigod to lead me to the heart… And only _then_ will I eat you."

* * *

No one was there.

Māui and the Chief had searched every corner of every hut in the area, but all they'd found was a few spiders, assorted geckos, and plenty of dust. "This is futile," Māui finally sneezed, wrinkling his nose as he exited the last hut.

Chief Elei looked crestfallen. "I thought… I was sure I'd find them here."

Māui noted her expression and patted her shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. Maybe they're being kept somewhere _close_ to the village, but not in it." He strode purposefully ahead — and promptly plunged headlong into a ravine. For a moment, he fell, mouth agape as he sped downward; but, thinking quickly, he waved his hook and transformed, flapping wildly upward and landing next to the Chief in a pile of bedraggled feathers. When he returned to his own form, his face was deathly pale. "Oh, Rangi," he gasped, clutching his chest.

His companion leaned forward. "Are you hurt?" she started to ask, but Māui, who had recovered his breath and was now staring intently into the chasm, cut her off.

"Chief Elei, look!"

The Chief glanced where he was pointing, and her eyes widened to match his. The bottom of the ravine wasn't dark, like one might expect. It shimmered an eye-searing purple, and tendrils of something which looked like smoke but moved awfully like tentacles undulated lazily in its depths. Illuminated by the glow were two structures, both a short distance from the main village. One was a large, rickety hut standing at the very edge of the cliff; and the other, a rope bridge leading from its doorstep all the way over the ravine's mouth. A cold feeling of deja vu rushed into her stomach as she surveyed the hut. "This was in my dream," she said. "Loto is here, I know it!"

Māui nodded solemnly. "And that purple thing down there is a portal to Lalotai — so try to make as little noise as possible."

He and the Chief began to creep toward the weak, flickering light at the hut's entrance. As they drew nearer, Māui could make out a horribly familiar shape lying on the threshold. "Isn't that your crab?" Chief Elei whispered.

Normally, Ata would have loudly protested the Chief's wording. "I'm _no one's_ crab," he'd have said crossly, antennae twizzling together in irritation. But he stayed dead silent, slumped motionlessly on the ground

Māui knocked frantically on the crab's shell. "Ata? Can you hear me? Ātaahua! Say something!"

"I think he's out cold, Māui," the Chief said. "Come on — he'll be fine."

Māui turned to her, wearing an expression that wouldn't have been out of place on Pele's face. He began to speak, but was cut off by a loud scream from inside the hut.

"Loto," the Chief said — and, vaulting over Ata's prone form, charged straight inside, Māui hot on her heels.

However eerie the hut's surroundings had been, they couldn't hold a torch to the nightmarish scene inside. Bones that looked unpleasantly human were strewn across the floor, and, to his revulsion, Māui could make out tooth marks on some of them. Teuila, Hawea, Lagi, and the Chief's mother-in-law sat shivering in each corner of the room, bound and gagged; and in the very center, clutched in his father's arms, was Loto, his arms and legs tied but his mouth left free. "Mum!" he cried, the moment he set his eyes on Chief Elei. "Mum, help me!"

"Shhh," Puleleiite said gently, stroking Loto's hair. "Calm down, son. Everything will be all right."

"Pule, what happened?" the Chief asked. "How did you find them? Did you see who took them?"

"Ātaahua and I stumbled on this place completely by chance," Puleleiite said. "You're lucky to have arrived just now. The monster was still here when we came — as you can see from _his_ state," he added, nodding in Ata's direction. "It's waiting in the ravine below, to kill us if we attempt escape. That's why I haven't untied anyone yet."

"No!" Loto yelled again. Puleleiite pulled him close, burying the child's face in his own chest and embracing him tightly.

"What kind of monster is it?" Māui asked. "And what does it want with the villagers?"

"It was a huge brute," Puleleiite said. "Tentacles so long they could encircle this entire hut, and claws the size of a grown man. Its speech was so garbled as to be nearly unintelligible, but I managed to make out what it was demanding." His gaze swung to Māui. "It said that it is holding these villagers as ransom. It is prepared to release them, unharmed… as long as the demigod Māui agrees to enter the portal to Lalotai and give him the Heart of Te Fiti."

"Anything!" the Chief said, starting forward, but Māui frowned heavily.

"I can't," he said.

The Chief grabbed his shoulders and wheeled him to face her, punctuating each of her words with a shake. "I will not let my people die!"

"The Heart isn't mine to give," Māui spat, breaking away. "I'm not going to let anyone die, Chief. But I made a promise to protect Te Fiti's heart, and I will keep it no matter what."

"Will you?" Puleleiite asked, getting to his feet. Immediately, Loto whimpered quietly and dragged himself over to his grandmother, huddling up against her and regarding his father with frightened eyes. "Would you, the self-proclaimed Hero to All, truly let innocent people die because of a promise you made to a goddess? If Te Fiti's heart is so _dearly important_ to her, perhaps she should have taken better care of it, instead of using it on the first vermin that crossed her path!"

Māui froze, mind racing. "How did you know about Ata?" he asked.

"The crab told me, of course," Puleleiite said, but there was a hint of hesitation in his tone.

"I don't believe—" Māui began, but a deep, rough voice cut him off.

"The god lies!" it said from behind him, causing Māui, Puleleiite, and the Chief to whip around in surprise. Framed by the doorway was the chicken-sized silhouette of a lizard, tongue flickering and green eyes blazing. "I saw exactly what transpired. Your false words may fool _them_ —" — she waved a claw at Māui and the Chief — "but they cannot fool _me_."

"Awhina!" Māui exclaimed. "I thought you were back in the village!"

"I was," Awhina said. "But I left the moment I saw _him_ in my Master's mind. I surmised that Master must have been in danger — correctly, as it so happens."

"You can _see_ all of Ata's thoughts?" Māui asked, grimacing. "That must be awful."

Awhina shrugged. "Part and parcel of being indelibly connected to him. And they're not so bad, really — mostly sarcastic comments and pictures of food. One gets used to it after a while. Anyway, I traced him here through his scent. He's got a very distinctive one. I really should speak to him about the benefits of daily bathing."

"Or not," Māui said. "Seeing as it's how you found him."

Puleleiite looked torn between murderous rage and bewilderment at the casual conversation. "Traitor!" he snarled, stalking toward the taniwha.

"I am loyal to my Master," Awhina replied.

"The wrong Master!" Puleleiite shrieked. "You were sent for one purpose: to bring the demigod Māui back to Lalotai. But of _course_ you had to make a complete mess of that, didn't you? And now look what you are: groveling slave to an overgrown seafood dinner!"

Awhina roared and reared back, inflating herself to thrice her previous size. "My Master is an inimitable paragon of glory, and _you_ are nothing but a grotesque wretch! I will make you _pay_ for your words, and for the harm you caused my Master!"

"Pule," the Chief said, sounding utterly lost. "What's happening?"

"That," Māui said, "isn't Puleleiite. It isn't even human." He paused, the taniwha's earlier words registering in his mind. "Wait. Awhina… did you call him a _god_?"

Puleleiite sighed dramatically. "That's right, little demigod. I suppose there's no point in keeping this charade up any longer, is there? No, your crab didn't tell me. And no… there is no clawed, tentacled beast lurking in wait." He took a deep breath — and suddenly, his whole body lit up with shining, blood-red ink, writhing under his skin like fiery snakes. His eyes lightened to match his tattoos, and when he grinned Māui saw that his teeth had been replaced with a set of wickedly sharp, spindly fangs. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Maniloa… God of Cannibalism. It is _I_ who seek the heart — and rest assured, _I will have it_."


End file.
